A Downton Holiday
by andthenwedownton
Summary: Film director Matthew Crawley escapes to a small town in Yorkshire for the holiday season to cure his broken heart. Mary Crawley publishes fairy tales for grown ups, but has never had one of her own. A holiday might just be the perfect opportunity for them to fall in love. ("The Holiday" AU)


_Notes: This fic was written as a Secret Santa fic for the beloved Orange Shipper! Claire has been writing beautiful fic for our fandom for years now and I'm so happy to be able to give her this Christmas present. Merry Christmas, Claire and all!_

* * *

If this was a film directed by Matthew Crawley, two time Oscar nominee and one time Golden Globe winner, it would definitely start with a sweeping shot over a exquisite manor house in Yorkshire on a misty morning, with a few windows lit. The next shot would be of a bright Los Angeles mansion, with a pristine pool and a tiled roof. Elaborate real estate and transatlanticism were trademarks of his films. It would be accompanied, as always, by emotional soundtrack masterpiece made by his usual partner in filmmaking, Tom Branson.

This would create a nice transition to the composer in question who'd be seen in a studio hunched over a stack of sheet music, busily scratching away. He'd frown, crumple up the paper and chuck it into the rubbish bin, before taking out another paper and beginning anew. Through the window of the studio, one could see the waves of the ocean washing against the shore.

The next shot would show one young woman, her dark hair in a neat braid down her back, fixing a bouquet of flowers. She'd smile at the bouquet, then place it in the window of a small flower shop. The shot would zoom out to show the façade of the flower shop on a winding street of tiny English village. "Violet's Village Booms" would be written over the door in swirling letters against a purple storefront. The sign at the door would be flipped to read "open" and a new day would begin.

Following this, would be a shot of the young filmmaker waking is his sumptuous, cushy white bed as his electric curtains rise from the window, letting the faint light of early dawn in. The man would turn, frown at the empty space beside him in bed, sigh, and then get out of bed to start the day. The camera would focus on the details of him running his hands through his golden hair, that caught the morning light. Then focus again on the mesmerizing blue of his eyes.

Then the final shot of the opening montage would feature another raven-haired woman, clearly the older sister of the florist, sitting in armchair by the window of what must be the elegant house featured earlier in the montage. The woman sips tea from a delicate teacup while reading over a used book in her hands, a gentle grin on her face as she flips the withered page. A blanket is tucked over her knees and in the window behind her, snow is just beginning to fall.

With the main players of the story introduced, the soundtrack fades out as the leading lady's phone rings and the story begins.

* * *

"Hello? Ms. Crawley. It's Daisy," A voice on the phone piped up.

Mary tugged on the tartan blanket that was covering her. A phone call from Daisy on a weekday morning could only mean one thing- something had gone wrong at the shop.

Ten years ago, at only twenty years old, with the diploma still in her hand, Mary Crawley founded Downton Books Publishing. The idea for the company began when her grandmother Violet died. Violet had had two loves: flowers and books. Whereas Sybil had inherited her love for flowers, Mary had been bestowed her love for literature. At their grandmother's passing, Mary had inherited her grandmother's entire book collection. The old shelves of the abbey library contained so many of her favorite stories, most of them dating back to the turn of the century. Stories of aristocratic young ladies deciding to wed lower class boys with now prospects because of love. Stories of girls who run away to new countries to become governesses and create spectacular new lives for themselves. Stories that were more adult fairytales than real life stories. But well, life was hard and Mary thought that adults needed more fairy tales.

Which is what had prompted her idea for a business. It started as an online thing. She worked with old college friend Anna Smith who designed a series of beautiful new covers for three of Mary's favorite old books. With rights secured, they republished three of the books with beautiful new covers and new life. With a bit of keen social media marketing, the business started to take off and they re-published five beautiful old stories their second year. In the third, Mary discovered some of her grandmother's old journals and decided to put together some excerpts of those into a book. It was an instant hit. It was from there that the business really took off. Mary and Anna ended up opening a shop in York, close enough to Mary's old inherited house in rural Yorkshire and not horribly far from where Anna lived in Leeds.

Mary spent most her time pouring over old books, trying to decide which new treasures to publish. This was a truly privileged career to have because it ideally meant she could spent most her time at home curled up in an arm chair with tea and an old book. In actuality, it meant more time for her to spend chasing after her four-year-old son. However, early mornings and late nights were her privileged reading time. People now sent books to her from around the country requesting publication. Her grandmother's library remained her favorite place to find her new publications. Old Grandmother Violet, rest her soul, had immaculate taste in literature.

"What's up, Daisy?" Mary asked.

"The store is completely packed," the young shop clerk explained.

"Seriously?" Mary asked.

While her store did well as sort of a women's literature cult sensation, it wasn't particularly the kind of place that gets packed.

"Apparently, The Sunday Times wrote it up on an article about visiting York for Christmas markets. They said Downton Books was a must stop for anyone looking for a good 'hot water bottle book' for the holiday season," Daisy said.

"Did they really say that?" Mary gasped, smiling. She could hardly believe such a good write up.

"Yes and it's more than I can manage myself," Daisy complained. "Can you come to town immediately?"

Bless her soul. While Daisy was a competent clerk and thoughtful literary critic, she could be easily overwhelmed.

"Yes, of course," Mary promised. "I'll even call Anna and have her come up as well."

"Thanks so much," Daisy sighed.

"I'll have to bring George," Mary added.

"It's no problem."

It was fifteen minutes later when Mary was dressed in a professional looking short black dress, tights, ankle boots, and a wooly holiday jumper. She'd had the unfortunate task of having of wake up her son, dress him, and take him out of the house early. For a small child, he was distinctly that wasn't his favorite thing. She threw on her Longchamps purse and grabbed her car keys. She dashed out the door of the old abbey and made for her car.

After putting George in his car seat, she began scraping the snow off her car. She looked up at what the family affectionally referred to as "the old pile." It had been in the family for years. Somewhere down the line, the Crawley's had been a prominent family. They were still wealthy today, better off than most, but certainly not inordinately rich as they had once been. Mary's parents lived in a humble apartment in London. Her sister resided in a quaint cottage on the abbey's grounds. Mary was the only one who chose to reside in the old abbey still. Well, her and George. To Mary, it felt like being a character in one of her books. An elegant lady living in an old estate.

The only thing she was missing was a love story.

She thought of years before: a diplomat who loved literature, who gave her a ring just before getting on a plane to Poland, and then never returned. Grief, mourning- they were all emotions she promised years before. She was just grateful for George, her beautiful, tiny son that made the whole haunting ordeal worth it.

"Mummy," He asked. "We go to York?"

"Yes, love," She told him.

"We get cake?" He asked.

She smiled. Her little boy had her sweet tooth.

"Maybe after. I've got to go to work."

"Okay Mum," George said.

It was a busy day at Downton Books. Mary, Anna, and Daisy were occupied gift wrapping books, giving recommendations, and selling stacks of books. Mary smiled at each copy of her Grandmother's journal she sold, happy to see people were still reading her zestful musings. She had never seen the store so alive, full of faces made rosy from the cold, the front window fogged up, and bits of evergreen peeking out from shelves. George stumbled around the building, playing with Daisy's cat and drawing all over a copy of a book. It was a worthy sacrifice for the success of the day.

Afterwards, she treated Daisy, Anna, and George to cake and tea at a nearby café.

"We'll have to get some extra help in for the Christmas season," Mary said, spooning George a bit of chocolate cake. "I'll put up a posting and see if we can find another clerk before next weekend. I'm sure we can find a literature student home from Oxford for the holiday or something."

"Certainly," Anna agreed. "Oh Mary, this new business is terribly exciting."

"And the online orders have been insane," Daisy remarked.

Mary pressed her lips together, practicing the particular English art of trying not to look too pleased with herself.

"That's always a good thing," She agreed. "I should head home though. George needs some real dinner and I think I deserve a glass of wine by the fire after a long day. We all do."

The women bid their goodbyes, before heading to their cars. George fell asleep on the drive back, snow falling around the car, and Christmas music playing softly on the radio. Mary herself felt ready for a nap when she arrived home. She had never been more relieved in her life when she saw Sybil's car parked in front of the abbey.

Something smelled delicious, Mary noted, as she walked into the old manor. George tottled sleepily over to the couch in the salon where some of his teddys were sitting, launching into some sort of game with them. Mary followed the smell into the kitchen where her sister was lingering over the stove.

"Sybil, darling, what a lovely surprise," Mary remarked, crossing the room to give her sister a kiss on the cheek.

"Anna texted me," Sybil admitted. "She told me I simply must come over and cook you dinner after your long day. I had a long day too, so I figured I could use some sister bonding."

"Oh no," Mary asked. "What happened?"

"Auntie Sybil," George exclaimed loudly, running into the kitchen, his socks causing him to slide across the tile. Sybil caught him her arms, laughing.

"Play with me! Play with me!" He declared.

"I'll keep cooking," Mary told her sister. "You go play!"

"If you insist," Sybil said with a cheeky smile, passing Mary a spatula.

Mary finished cooking the dinner, a vegetable curry that was one of Sybil's specialties. She pulled out a few plates and dished it out. For George, she gave him just a plate of plain rice with some veggies picked out on the side. His palette wasn't quite ready for curry and to be honest, she would be lucky if he ate some of the vegetables.

Tonight, he surprisingly did. Mostly because Sybil was feeding him. George adored his Auntie Sybil. Whereas Mary sometimes struggled parenting her son, he always listened to his lovely, young aunt.

"I'll wash the dishes, if you tuck him in?" Mary offered.

"Come on George, off to bed," Sybil cooed.

"Will you read me a story, Auntie?" Asked George.

Mary rolled her eyes as she watched her son trot off to bed. If only she could get him to be so excited to go to bed without Sybil here.

When she finished washing and drying the dishes, Mary poured two large glasses of red wine and took them to the salon, where Sybil was just arriving from putting George down.

The two girls settled on the couch.

"So you want to tell me why you're so down?" Mary asked.

Sybil had mentioned it earlier and Mary knew that her sister hadn't just popped over for dinner. She always wanted a good life talk.

The younger woman sighed. "You remember that accountant who works next door to the flower shop?"

Mary nodded, remembering the man that her sister had been crushing on for years. Personally, Mary didn't think he was attractive or interesting, but she wouldn't tell her sister that.

"Well today he came in and asked to buy some flowers. I was so excited, totally flirting and everything," Sybil began. "I asked if the flowers were for his mum. That's who they are usually for. But instead, he said they were for his fiancé."

"Oh Sybil," Mary sighed.

Her sister took a large gulp of wine.

"I feel so stupid," Sybil said. "I mean, I never really made any moves. I just crushed hopelessly and painfully. I deserve it."

"No, what you deserve is someone better, not a dry accountant with buggy eyes," Mary told her sister seriously.

"If only, right?" Sybil said. "This is miserable. There aren't many eligible bachelors in a small village in Yorkshire."

That was exactly why Mary liked it. Her heart could hardly be broken if she was far away from any men.

"Have you thought about getting out for a bit?" Mary suggested.

"What like take a holiday someplace?" Sybil said.

"Sure, why not," Mary said. "It's been ages since you've taken a proper holiday, ages since you've left Yorkshire really."

"That's not true," Sybil said. "I went to London for mummy and daddy's anniversary last November."

"Exactly," Mary said, "You haven't left the village since last November."

"It's the flower shop," Sybil explained. "I can't leave it for long, you know? Especially now at the holiday season. It will be packed with orders for poinsettias for Christmas."

Whereas Mary had Daisy and Anna to help her with Downton Book, Sybil ran Violet's Village Blooms all on her own. If she left the shop, even for a bit of time, it's future was in jeopardy.

"Hmmm that is a predicament," Mary said, wondering what could be done to help her sister.

She took a sip of wine, mulling it around in her mind.

"I have it!" Mary exclaimed. "What about a swap?"

"A what?" Sybil asked.

"A house swap," Mary told her. "I was reading about a guy who does this house swap thing in Scotland. He's got a bookshop and whenever he wants a holiday, he swaps houses with someone. The person who stays in his house gets to run his bookshop for a few days. It's kind of a novelty thing and it books up straight away."

"Oh Mary, I don't think I could trust the business to a stranger," Sybil sighed.

"I'll be here," Mary told her. "I can help if anything goes wrong."

"But you've got enough to do with your business booming and holiday season," Sybil told her.

"I've got enough time to help you," Mary said. "I'm honest. You need a break. Take a holiday."

Sybil rolled her eyes, chugged the last of her wine, and put down her glass.

"Fine, I'm in," She agreed.

"Excellent!" Mary said. "Let me get my laptop. Let's find the village a new florist."

* * *

Matthew Crawley really needed to stop dating actresses. Particularly mean actresses. Particularly ones that were going to break his heart.

Ugh.

It had been a week since Lavinia had stormed out, chucked a shoe at his head, and slammed the door. It was weird that she was the one throwing shoes, considering she was the one who had cheated on him. The bruise on Matthew's head had just faded, but the pain in his heart- well that wasn't quite so mended.

He dressed and headed down the stairs, determined to make the biggest mug of coffee possible and throw himself into work for the day. He got in his car, heading for the studio and the crowded LA streets. He arrived at the soundstage just as the sun was rising, pulling into a parking spot and taking note of the usual flurry of activity.

"Good morning Mr. Crawley," said an attendant as he got out of his car, the man passing him another mug of coffee and his notes for today.

"Good morning, William," Matthew said.

"Filming the big love scene today I see," William noted.

"Indeed," Matthew said. "Big day today."

"Good luck, not that you need, you're the master of love stories," William said.

"I wish that was true," Matthew said under his breath.

If he was actually the master of love stories, he wouldn't be heartbroken right now. Would he?

He pushed the thought away as he made for the soundstage, looking through his notes for the day and trying to rev himself up for the big love scene.

It was an hour later when everything was finally in place to shoot the scene. It was the moment where the leading lady was finally vulnerable enough to admit her love for the leading man. The scene was going to end with a steamy love scene was just discrete enough to keep the ratings PG-13. Matthew knew it was important that this scene was perfectly acted as the whole film rested upon it.

"I've never said this out loud before," The woman said, sitting on her bed in a low-cut red dress, running her hand through her hair. "But, I love you. There, I said it. I love you."

"Cut," Matthew announced, getting out of his seat to approach the actress. "You've got to be more nervous. You look like you are going to seduce him, but we aren't there yet. This has got to be the hardest thing you've ever done in your life."

"Right, okay," The actress agreed.

"Let's go again," Matthew said, settling back in his head.

The scene started again. This time the actress seemed much more nervous, authentically stuttering through her words and fidgeting with her nails. Matthew was impressed. He loved this feeling of watching his vision come to life. That's why he loved directing.

"I love you too," The man replied, "Endlessly, thoroughly, always, forever. I love you."

"Cut," Matthew called again, moving from his chair to approach the actor's again.

"I want you to try it again, but this time not as a speech," He suggested. "I want you to sneak each line in between kisses. Her hair, her lips, each corner of her face. Make it adoring." He turned the woman. "And you, as he does that, I want it seems like your worries are being washed away. Let's see the relief pour out of you. Go again, shall we?"

The scene continued on like this, becoming increasingly more real and vibrant. Matthew's heart began to soar as he watched the love scene play out, the leading man unzipping the woman's red dress. All of sudden, he could only think of Lavinia, just two weeks ago when he unzipped her dress after a film premiere they'd attended. She'd been flirty and saucy. How could he expect to have the rug pulled out from underneath him? How was he supposed to know that she was cheating on him the whole while?

He shook his head, burying his face in his hand.

"Cut," He said, his blood stirring.

"Are you sure?" The actor said. "I thought that was our best so far."

"I still don't think the scene is authentic enough."

"What do you mean?" The actress asked.

"I mean, so what he takes your dress off. So what, you have sex. But then what? She's probably cheating on you already," Matthew began. The jaws of the actors were starting to drop. "I mean, let's be realistic. She's a bit too pretty for you. She's probably dating another guy back in London. I mean, you are probably just expendable. You are probably just worthless. Love is worthless. All of this pointless and nothing is real."

At this point, everyone in the studio was staring at him. Looks of disbelief were etched into each of their faces.

"Uh, Mr. Crawley," William pipped up. "Maybe you need a glass of water? And a break?"

Matthew sighed. This was insane. He was making a fool of himself.

"You're right, William. I'm not in a good place right now," He admitted. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Let's stop for the day. I'm not in the right mindset to do this."

"You want to stop filming for the whole day?" William asked, a bit of shock in his voice.

Matthew frowned and nodded. "Sorry, tell the cast sorry. I just can't."

With that, Matthew left the soundstage as quick as possible. He knew it was wasteful and selfish to end filming for the day, but he wasn't in any state to make art. He got back in his car and turned it on. As he drove out of the lot, he used his Bluetooth to called Tom.

"What's up, mate?" His friend asked as he picked up the phone.

"I left work early," Matthew admitted, as he pulled onto the highway.

"Oh no, because of Lavinia?" Tom asked.

"How can I direct a love story when I'm heartbroken?" Matthew asked.

"Well, it's your job, so you just do it anyway," Tom's voice tells him.

"I'm having trouble with it," Matthew admitted.

"Sounds like you need a drink," Tom told him.

"That's for sure," Matthew said.

"Meet at the pub in 40 minutes?" Tom offered.

"Sounds like a plan."

Matthew and Tom met at The Pub eight years before. They were both young hopefuls in the film industry, both freshly arrived from UK. In their initial culture shock, the local Irish pub became a place of comfort for both of them, which led to their friendship. The friendship eventually grew into a partnership. Matthew directing, Tom composing. They started with a few short films. Then finally an few feature length films that appeared in a few festivals. By now, at 30, Matthew was now comfortable in his film career and Tom had made a career by composing the scores to his films. It was a partnership made in heaven as the two men got along so well and almost always saw eye to eye on the plans for the films.

So 40 minutes later, when Matthew walked into the pub, he felt the stress and sadness that had been weighing on him previously roll off him. Just knowing he would be talking to Tom made him feel better.

Tom was already at their favorite booth with two pints. Matthew slid across from, took two gigantic gulps before even looking at his friend.

"Rough day?" Tom said.

Matthew nodded, downing another gulp.

"Easy there," Tom warned.

"I just am feeling a little burned out," Matthew sighed.

"A little? Do you think?"

"Okay, massively burnt out. Massively heart broken."

"When was the last time you took a break?" Tom asked.

"What do you mean break?"

"I mean a holiday? A proper holiday?" Tom repeated.

"Like a sun holiday, laying about on the beach?" Matthew scoffed, "You know I'm not fond of wasting time, not being productive. Besides, I'm in LA. I have more than enough sun."

He took another gulp.

"Well maybe you need some time off," Tom said. "Get over the girl, get some peace and quiet."

Matthew scowled into his pint. He hated the very idea of vacation.

"It's Christmas," Tom pointed out. "You deserve a holiday. You know, I read about an Airbnb in Scotland where you can stay in someone's bookshop. You get to run the bookshop. I'm sure you can find some sort of workaholic vacation to take."

Matthew didn't answer, but Tom took out his phone and started searching.

* * *

"Have you had many takers for the florist holiday?" Mary asked, a few days later when Sybil stopped over for an afternoon tea.

George was playing in the snow outside and the two women were able to watch him play through the wall of glass windows in the library.

"Several actually," Sybil replied, pulling a laptop out of her tote bag. "Want to help me decide?"

Mary smirked as George threw a snowball at himself. He wobbled on his feet, but stayed standing, giving his mum a wave through the window. She waved back.

"So there is one girl and she actually has experience in flower arranging," Sybil remarks, "so I think she should be the one."

"Mmm, let me see," Mary requested, looking over at her sister's laptop.

There was a very nice written letter from a young women with a smiling face.

"Oh she looks so lovely. Ooo, look," Mary remarked, "Here is one from an M. Crawley."

"Is it really?" Sybil asked. "Have they a picture?"

Mary shakes her head at the application, one of the more vague ones.

"I think your best choice is the flower arranging girl," Mary told her. "That way you know the show will truly flourish."

"Flourish? Clever," Sybil remarked. "I'll offer the swap to her."

"Where is she from?" Mary asked.

"Uh, Cornwall," Sybil said.

"Ugh, dreadful," Mary said. "I changed my mind. Don't offer it her."

"Cornwall is lovely," Sybil said.

"You need something with sunshine," Mary tells her, pulling the laptop closer to herself. She flicked through the options. There was an older woman from Nice and that sounded much more promising. There was another from North Carolina, which might do in a pinch. Mary had been to Florida once and she thought that the Carolinas might be around there, but she wasn't particularly sure.

Her eyes fell again on the mysterious M. Crawley with the grey little face. The details of the account were vague- works in the entertainment industry, wants a peaceful holiday in country. Swap locations: Los Angeles, California.

"You're picking M. Crawley," Mary decided.

"You're self-absorbed," Sybil said, dramatically rolling her eyes.

"No, M. Crawley lives in Los Angeles," Mary said. "You are definitely picking M. Crawley."

"Cornwall could be nice," Sybil murmured.

Mary clicked on M. Crawley. "Too late, deed is done! You are going to California!"

* * *

"Hey, what did that vineyard in Italy say?" Tom asked, as the two sat out on Matthew's pool deck with a bottle of wine.

"What vineyard?" Matthew asked.

"The AirBnB where you got to help make wine and taste it and stay in Tuscany?" Tom said, recalling their holiday rental hunting from a few days back.

"It's a no-go," Matthew said, pausing for a sip of wine. "All booked till next May."

"Yikes," Tom remarked. "So no holiday then?"

Matthew cracked a smile at his friend. "I'm actually going to Yorkshire."

"Yorkshire?" Tom reiterated.

"Yes, to work at a small flower shop."

"You? Arranging flowers?" Tom laughed.

Matthew stood up and started to pace beside the pool. "Well, I figured that Yorkshire would be the best choice. It's a small town named Downton, not far from Ripon. There is a small cottage on the grounds of larger estate. The girl who runs it now says that it should be easy enough- most just people picking up poinsettia orders."

"Sounds utterly boring," Tom commented.

Matthew turned to him, "But that's the thing right. I just need to get away from LA, from the memories of Lavinia. I just need some quiet time to be myself. And, if I'm in Yorkshire for a holiday, that means I can visit Mum in Manchester for Christmas and I know that will mean everything to her."

"I suppose it's your choice," Tom lamented. "When do you leave?"

Matthew grabbed his wine glass and took a sip, before spinning the glass in his hands. "Tomorrow."

"Brilliant," Tom said.

"Just take care of Sybil, will you?" Matthew said.

"Who is Sybil?"

"The girl who is staying here. The one doing the swap. Maybe you could show her around or something?"

Tom gave Matthew a cheeky grin, "I mean I suppose I could."

* * *

Mary couldn't remember the last time she was so alone in Downton. She was always surrounded by George and Sybil, that she wasn't quiet used to the solitude of her abode. But Sybil was off to America to spend two weeks in the LA sunshine and she had dropped George off in London on her way out of town. George would be spending a few days with his grand-parents Christmas shopping in London. So, for the first time in quite a while, Mary was alone.

She had spent the day in Yorkshire working at Downton Books. It was easy to stay distracted with the store packed for Christmas. Mary had hired another clerk named Ivy to help out for the holiday rush, but it seemed as if she and Daisy didn't get along particularly well. She had spent most of the afternoon sending the girls off in different directions to attend to costumers so that they wouldn't have to interact with each other.

Now Mary was home in her quiet with a stack of books to sift through and see which would be the next "Downton Book" to be published. A third of the way into a new book, she received a text from Mabel Fox. Mabel was an old childhood friend, who spent most of her time in America working in the fashion industry these days. Back in Secondary School, Mary had sort of accidentally stolen a boyfriend from her (long story) and they had spent two years not speaking to each other. Luckily, they eventually got over their differences after a few years of uni. Now, they always met up when Mabel was home for Christmas.

 _Hey u hoe! Let's get drinks! Xo Mabel_

It was this text that led Mary to Grantham Arms, the local pub. Mary was normally the kind of woman who enjoyed a nice glass of wine or maybe some whisky on a cold night. But with Mabel, things always tended to get out of hand.

Mary couldn't remember the last time she had had a shot. And now she was pretty sure she'd had at least 4. Besides, George wasn't home. She didn't have to be a mum for just a moment.

"I'm going to call you an Uber," Mabel babbled, throwing an arm around Mary. "I'm going to call you an Uber and you are going to go home and sleeeeep."

Mary rolled her eyes and pushed Mabel's arm off her shoulder. "I'm fine, truly Mabel, I'm quite fine. I can walk home."

"No, no, I'm getting an Uber for you," Mabel announced.

She pulled out her phone and jabbed some buttons. Mary felt herself sway a bit and held on to the bar for support.

"Oh no!" Mabel whined, "There aren't any Ubers in fricken Downton, England."

Mary laughed, "Looks like I'm walking home!"

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine," Mary said, taking an uneasy step towards the door.

Mabel put a kiss on her cheek, "We'll have to do this again before I leave!"

Mary wanted to protest that she was likely to never to get another opportunity and that she was far too old for this party life anyway. But she nodded and said, "Of course, darling. Text me, won't you?"

With that, Mary stumbled into the winter air. She loved the walk from town back to her estate. It was a twenty-minute stroll, which was a lot of time to spend in the cold, but it looked magical with each tree dusted in snow. She pulled her coat close around her and closed her eyes, feeling the flakes brush her face. _Merry Christmas me_ , she thought dreamily, the alcohol still tingling in her veins.

As the turned into the drive to the estate, she realized that she really needed to pee. There was still another ten minutes till she reached the old abbey and that seemed like torture.

In the distance, she noticed the lights in Sybil's cottage on. _Brilliant_! Brilliant, brilliant Sybil!

Mary bounded through the snowy hills, snow dampening her boots and socks and the hem of jeans, as she made for her sister's cottage. She skidded to a halt at the door, puffing a bit for air and still quite dizzy. She rapped on the door.

"Sybil! Si-BELLE!" Mary sing-songed. "Open the fricken door door door!"

She giggled to herself. She was never the kind of person who sang. God, she really was totally wasted.

The door to the cottage opened and Mary was very surprised to find herself face to face with one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen. He had golden blond hair, bright blue eyes, and an attractive smattering of stubble over his jaw.

Wow. What did she even say to that?

"You're not Sybil," Was all she could come up with.

"Afraid I'm not," The man said. "I'm, uh, Matthew."

"Oh God! Right!" Mary gasped in a sudden moment of realization. "M. Crawley! You're M. Crawley. I'm also M. Crawley. Sybil's gone. God. I'm so stupid."

"It's quite alright," Matthew said, "Would you like to come in and warm up for a moment?"

"Yes, and use your loo if that's quite alright?" Mary said, shuffling through the door. "Well, Sybil's loo. Sorry I'm so pissed. I really never get this drunk. You're really lovely looking. I don't mean to push in, honestly I don't, but can I use the loo?"

The attractive man chuckled and gestured towards the toilet, "It's all yours."

Mary rushed in to relieve herself. As she washed her hands after, she took herself in. She was dressed in a pair of dark jeans that framed her legs alright and didn't make her look like a mum. And a cozy tan jumper that didn't really make her look that lumpy. Her hair was neat, somewhat wavy, in her somewhat outgrown Princess Kate lob that she had cut a few months ago. Her eyes held the tell-tale glassiness that was a clear sign she was drunk off her arse.

She emerged from the bathroom and back into Sybil's living room.

"Sorry for interrupting whatever you were doing," Mary said.

"It's no bother," Matthew replied, giving her a shy grin. He nodded at the fireplace where a glass of wine and a book sat. "I'm just reading a book and having a night in."

Mary wandered over to the book, smiling at the familiar cover, "Oh nice choice.

"I found it on the shelf," Matthew admitted.

Mary smiled, "I figured as much. I published this and gave Sybil the first copy."

Matthew gave a second glance, "Did you really?"

"I know it's surprising when you meet me and I'm totally sloshed," Mary said. "But, believe it or not, I am in fact a mildly successful publisher."

Mary wobbled as she put the book down.

"Would you like to sit?" Matthew asked. "I'm afraid you might fall over."

She nodded and plopped on the couch. "Thanks for that M. Crawley."

"No problem," He said. "Do you have a name?"

"Oh my god! I'm so so sorry," Mary rambled. "I can't believe I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Sybil's sister. Mary. I live in the old abbey up the road."

"Oh, you're Mary," Matthew said. "I got a note saying that if I needed any help with anything her or at the flower shop to just ask Mary."

"Well, do you need any help?" Mary asked, propping her chin up with a hand.

Matthew smiled, "No, I think I'm fine so far. But would you maybe like some water or toast? To sober up a bit before you're walk up to your house?"

"Am I that bad?" Mary asked.

"I mean you were just singing outside the cottage," Matthew pointed out.

"Oh god. I was, wasn't I?" Mary said, shaking her head. "Yes, please then."

Matthew walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Mary found a blanket on the couch and pulled it around her, trying to warm up from the walk. She picked up the book again, trying to see what part he was at. Ooo, a very good part indeed. The meet cute where the main couple meet. She snuggled down and started read, her eyes fluttering immediately.

* * *

When Matthew arrived back in the living room, Mary was sound asleep on the couch, the book half covering her face. He chuckled softly to himself and removed it from her face. She had a very beautiful face, he thought, smoothing out a bit of her hair that the book had jostled. He placed the cup of water and toast next to her, before going back into the kitchen to get a few pain relieving tablets for when she woke up. After leaving those beside the water, he smiled at the lovely young woman's sleeping form before turning off the light and heading up to Sybil's bedroom.

In the morning, Matthew woke with a smile. The room was bright from the light reflecting off of the snow outside his window. Here he had worried that Yorkshire might be too grim for the holidays, but with the snow and cozy cottage- he found it to be great. And the unexpected visitor last night. She was certainly great. Her silly drunken rambling had charmed him. Her literary prowess had impressed him. And she was undoubtably attractive.

Getting out of bed, he changed into some jeans and a button up shirt. He briefly stopped in the bathroom before he trotted downstairs softly, remembering that he had a sleeping visitor below him. Mary stirred at his steps, her dark eyes blinking awake.

"Oh fuck. What am I doing here?" She asked, sitting up, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"Aspirin tablets right beside you, love," Matthew said.

Mary mechanically grabbed the medicine and downed it. "God, my head is killing me."

"I'm sorry," Matthew said. "You'll feel better in a bit."

Mary blinked again, her forehead crinkling. "You're M. Crawley? I somehow thought M. Crawley was a woman."

"Matthew Crawley," He introduced, for the second time, waiting for the moment of realization of hit her. But there didn't seem to be any recognition in her eyes.

"It's nice to meet you, Matthew Crawley," She said. "I'm also M. Crawley."

"You said that last night," Matthew told her.

"Did I? I don't remember much," Mary admitted.

"I can remind you if you like," Matthew laughed. "Sybil. Sy BELLE!"

Mary ran a hand through her hair. "Well, that is embarrassing."

"Not to worry," He said. "We've all been there."

Mary made a moaning noise and chugged the rest of the water.

"Would you like a coffee?" Matthew asked, wandering into the kitchen and smiling at Sybil's shiny Nespresso maker.

Mary shook her head and standing up. She pulled on her coat. "I really should be going. I'm so sorry for ruining your holiday."

Matthew turned back to her. "Please don't apologize. You definitely did not ruin my holiday."

He watched her leave and create a path in the snow up to abbey. He truly hoped that it wouldn't be the last he saw the other M. Crawley.

But in truth, he didn't have much time to pine after Mary, because well, running a flower shop was quite the full-time job. He had people constantly coming in and out picking up orders of poinsettia. There were plenty of people looking for centerpieces for holiday parties. Matthew had fun with these. He was quite the amateur at making flower displays and he knew some of them were truly dismal, but he crafted a good amount that he was rather fond of.

He kept hoping that Mary would stop by the flower shop to check in on him, but there appeared to be no such luck. He was happily reading his way through Sybil's bookshelf, reading all the beautiful copies of "Downton Books" that lined them. Each volume was full of cozy story that could be read perfectly next to the fire. He was finding a fond place in his heart for each of her publications.

Yet, he never got to see their illustrious publisher. That was until his fourth day on the job, when he accidentally locked himself out of the flower shop. There were several families lined up outside the shop already, looking to pick up wreaths and poinsettias.

"Dammit," Matthew cursed, worried he was going to single-handedly ruin Sybil's business.

He found the note from Sybil with Mary's contact information on it in his pocket and dialed her number.

"Sorry to ring you," Matthew mumbled. "But I've accidentally gotten locked out of the flower shop. Could I bother you to let me in?"

"Oh," Mary said. "It's no problem. I'm just at the abbey. I'll be right there."

"Oh you are brilliant," Matthew said. "I can't thank you enough."

* * *

Mary ran into the bathroom to change. She couldn't believe she was going to see _him_ again.

Mary had been avoiding M. Crawley since they met. She was completely mortified that she'd been basically black out drunk, stumbling around the cottage, and actually singing. Mary never sang. Not even on Christmas. What had gotten into that night?

Well, vodka. Obviously way too much.

Since then, Mary had gone out of her way to avoid Sybil's cottage and its handsome occupant. That was, till the next night, when she'd decided to enjoy her solitude with a cozy Christmas movie. After making a large cup of cocoa, she picked one of her good old favorites films off the shelf and popped it in. She loved the story, a beautiful transatlantic romance, but what made it even better was its sweeping score and practical real estate porn.

At the end of the movie, she was feeling oh so snug and nearly was ready to drift off, when she caught the credits.

 _A Matthew Crawley Film_.

Matthew Crawley? As in M. Crawley?

She had grabbed for her laptop, quickly googling the director. There he was, the dashing man from Sybil's cottage two days before. His blond hair slicked and dazzling smile glittering on the red carpet. She looked through his films, several of them she adored, but several more she had yet to see. She immediately started binging them on Netflix. As she watched, she researched more about this mysterious tenant. An article told her about his recent break up with Lavinia Swire, a Hollywood actress who had starred in his previous film. No wonder he was in Downton. He was doing the same thing that Sybil was trying to do- escape unhappy memories and mend a broken heart.

Mary's heart softened for the man. After all, he'd been nothing but kind to her when she'd been an embarrassing drunk mess on his doorstep.

Still, she her plan had been trying avoid seeing him again, at least in person. Until ten minutes ago when he called and told her he'd been locked out. Apparently, another encounter with M. Crawley was inevitable.

Dressed in a loose grey dress, tights, and ankle boots, she pulled on a coat and scarf before heading into town. She was just grateful that George was still in London for one more day, so she didn't have to worry about bringing him around.

Mary saw the crowd outside Violet's Village Blooms before she even saw the building. She felt a feeling of dread. This was the kind of thing that Sybil had been worried about happening when she left. Mary hoped that the customers hadn't left because of the wait.

She parked and worked her way through the crowd to where Matthew was standing awkwardly outside the door.

"Oh, you goddess," Matthew exclaimed.

Mary almost laughed at his acclamation, her cheeks blushing. "Oh please. I've just got a spare key, that's all."

She opened the door to flower shop and a stream of people began to pour in. She knew that she couldn't maroon Matthew to the chaos of all the customers.

"I'll take the wreath orders; you do the flowers?" She suggested.

He flashed her a grateful look. "Thank you."

The morning turned into a busy blur. They fretted over orders, helped load wreaths and flowers in older customer's cars, and tried to make sense of all the money. Finally, after a few hours of work every initial customer seen to.

"I think we've earned quite the lunch break," Mary declared.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to join me? I feel like I owe you after your dashing rescue this morning."

They made their way to the tavern next door. It was decorated for Christmas, with evergreen garland strung around the room and lights over the fire it. It was very cozy indeed.

They both got glasses of warm mulled wine and sipped them by the fire as they waited for their food.

"So, what kind of editor are you?" Matthew asked.

"A very mean one," Mary teased.

Matthew laughed.

"No, actually, we publish lesser known works of women's fiction from the early 20th century," Mary explained.

"Oh that's brilliant," Matthew said. "I've read a few the books of your collection that I found on Sybil's shelf and I really like them."

"I'm glad to hear it," Mary grinned.

"How did you end up working there?" Matthew asked.

"Well I inherited my grandmother's love of books and her therefore her entire library. I want to share some of my favorite books from her library with others, give them new life. And my old friend Anna wanted to design covers," She explained, "So truly it was a match made in heaven."

"Wait, sorry, let me get this straight," He said. "You founded the publishing company?"

Mary nodded, "I know. I usually don't tell people. It can be a bit intimidating."

"Consider me very intimidated," Matthew said.

"But I figured that since you are a film director, you probably work alongside lots of endeavoring women and therefore won't be intimidated by me," Mary told him.

He gave her a sideways smile. "Ah, so you do know who I am."

"I didn't when we met," Mary admitted. "I was watching one of your films a few days ago and made the connection."

"And did you like it?" Matthew asked.

"Like what? The connection?"

"The film?" Matthew laughed.

Just then a server arrived with two plates of food and laid them before the pair. Mary took a chip off the plate and nibbled it.

"I did," She said. "A very cozy Christmas film. And the soundtrack was gorgeous."

"Well, all of that credit goes to my friend Tom Branson," Matthew explained. "He's the mastermind behind the music."

"You'll have to give him my full compliments," Mary told him.

"I told him to give Sybil a tour, help her out," Matthew said, picking up a chip from his own plate and dabbing it in vinegar.

"Hmm," Mary said, "I'll have to ask her about it."

There was a moment of silence where they both picked at their food.

"So, how did you end up in Los Angeles?" Mary asked. "You sound like you've got a bit of a Manchester accent."

"Only a bit," Matthew said. "It's sort of faded a bit in LA."

"Only a bit," Mary nodded for him to continue.

"But yes. I studied film in Reading for uni and then got offered a chance to work on a set in Los Angeles. It was all grunt work at first, fetching brews and the like. Then slowly I worked my way up, did some short films on the side, met Tom, did a quite successful indie film- and well. Then the whole thing was history."

"That's impressive," Mary remarked. "Consider me intimidated."

He laughed.

"Is there anything you'd like to do while you are here?" She asked. "Got anything on your Downton bucket list?"

Matthew took a sip of mulled wine and his forehead wrinkled.

"I'd actually quite like to see more of your estate," Matthew remarked. "The abbey. The grounds."

Mary smiled gracefully, her mind quickly calculating how much time she'd have before George arrived home. She'd have to show it to him today.

"Of course. What time do you finish in the flower shop today?" She asked.

"Just after three," Matthew told her.

"Good," She said. "Come up to the abbey after and I'll show you around."

"Really?" Matthew asked, smiling. "That's so kind of you."

"Nonsense," Mary teased. "I'm just hoping you'll feature my house in your next film."

"I am quite keen on lovely bits of architecture," He commented, his voice a bit lower now.

"Good," Mary said, "I look forward to seeing you later."

* * *

Later arrived soon enough, Matthew made his way up to the old house as soon as he finished in the flower shop. He made small bouquet to give to Mary- dark red roses and springs of holly. The sun was just beginning to fade as he made his way up to the old house. The winding road through the soft rolling hills was quaint and calming. He could sheep from neighboring farms wandering through the distant fields. It was the exact pastoral tonic he needed to save him from the Los Angeles toxicity.

Mary was standing at the door when he arrived. He gave her an awkward wave as he approached. She was still dressed in the fetching outfit from earlier, a peacoat coat pulled over her dress.

"Are these for me?" She asked, raising her delicate eyebrows, when he presented her with the flowers.

"Only Violet's best blooms for milady," Matthew said dramatically.

Mary smiled and took the flowers. "Shall we walk? There isn't much daylight left."

They started walking across one of the lawns.

"How did you acquire such a lovely estate?" Matthew asked, fascinated by this beautiful woman.

"A gift from my grandmother," She explained.

"The same one who left the books?" He asked.

"Exactly," She said. "Violet."

"Oh I see," Matthew said.

"Technically, the abbey should have gone to my parents. But they live in London and have a nice apartment there. And Sybil loves that little cottage. But I like old and grand things. I love antiques and the stories behind the little details of the abbey. So everyone knew it made sense to be mine," Mary explained.

"I look forward to seeing all the details," Matthew said.

"Well if you look over here," Mary laughed gently, "You'll actually see one of my favorite follies. It's an old Grecian style ruin."

Matthew walked up toward it, climbing up the steps of the old ruin.

"It's obviously not a Greek ruin," Mary said. "But it was added when that was the sort of thing in vogue."

Matthew ran his hand up along the pillar slowly.

"It really is remarkable," Matthew said softly.

He turned slowly, to see Mary leaning against a pillar. He walked slowly towards her. He let his hand move along the pillar, just to the side of her head.

"There are lots of remarkable things about Downton, in my opinion," He said, his voice but a whisper.

Mary shivered and her eyes fluttered close.

"And what are those?" She asked.

"Excellent flower shop," He said, leaning in, placing a kiss on her right eye.

"Excellent Grecian ruins," He said, kissing her other eye.

"Excellent old abbey," He whispered, pressing a kiss on her nose.

"Hmm, that all?" She asked, her eyes opening again.

Rich, dark chocolate, he thought of the color.

"Beautiful book publishers too," He said, kissing her lips.

Her hand slipped down to grip his, a smile on her face.

"Let's keep this tour going?" She said, her voice a whisper. "It'll be dark soon."

* * *

She had kissed him.

Okay, well he had kissed her. The beautiful film director who randomly showed up out of the blue. M. Crawley whom she'd totally made of fool herself in front. Matthew Crawley whom she totally adored.

Mary was a bit smitten. And of course, this meant that she should apply her tried and true relationship technique- play coy. She ducked her head and nodded him on the tour.

They walked through the grounds. She showed him the rose gardens, now frosty with snow, and the greenhouses, still warm inside. They bid Happy Christmas to the neighbor's sheep. They climbed the largest hill to another of her favorite follies- a domed observatory.

"Do you actually see stars here?" He asked.

She shook her head. "I heard that my great-grandfather kept a telescope here. And maybe one day we'll bring it back."

"I can see it being rather nice, all curled up in the little observatory, looking at the stars," Matthew told her.

"Well, if you want to buy me a telescope, be my guest," she said.

"I mean, technically, I am your guest already," He told her. "So I might actually owe you one."

She laughed and look her head. "You aren't a guest. You're welcome here."

"Are you cold?" He asked, reaching for her hand.

"A bit," She shrugged.

"Why don't you show me the abbey now?" He suggested.

They headed down the hill, down towards the house, snow just beginning to fall.

Would they kiss again? Mary really, really wanted to kiss him again. Honestly, she wanted to do more than just kiss him. But she would certainly settle for kissing.

It was warm inside the abbey. Mary was constantly grateful that she could enjoy living in an old abbey in a modern age where she didn't have to worry about lack of indoor heating or plumbing.

"Welcome to Downton Abbey," She told him.

His eyes were wide, taking in the foyer, where the large tree lingered in the center of the house, the stairs encircling it.

"Did you decorate this yourself?" He asked, looking at the tree.

Mary nodded, "A mix of my grandmother's decorations and things I found at antique shops."

"It's lovely," He said. "You can see whole stories on this tree."

"We have that in common, don't we?" She said, tapping a vintage angel ornament.

"What?" He asked, pulling his eyes from the tree to look at her.

"We both like stories," Mary said.

"Oh yes," He said.

They moved into salon. She put on a few low lights, revealing the garland hung around the room and the string of cards that she and George had worked to put up together. Mary bent to light the fire, luckily a gas fire and easy to light.

She straightened to find Matthew right behind her. Very close.

Oh God. He was going to kiss her again. She knew it. She quite, quite wanted him to.

"It's quite snug in here," He said.

She nodded, her nose brushing his, as he hands fell to her waist.

"One of the best qualities of Christmas," she murmured. "Excellent snugness."

"I'm glad we feel the same way," He said, looking at her in the eyes.

His stupid disarming bright, bright blue eyes.

Then their lips were on each other- all over each other. Mary felt silly at first, her coat still on. But, she soon realized, coats, like other things could be quite easily removed.

 _Was this really happening?_ She thought dizzily, when Matthew lowered her down before the fire. The old ornate Persian rug felt funny beneath her bare shoulder. But he put a kiss behind her ear, then at the crook of her neck, then tip of her shoulder, then at this part of her stomach that made her positively squirm. And by the time his lips reached the jut of her hip, she was quite sure of three things:

Her life was slowly turning into a Matthew Crawley film.

If not that, her life was definitely a more risqué version of a Downton Book

She was a hundred percent okay with this.

The next morning, she awakened in her bedroom to feel a warm body beside her and a phone ringing.

 _Matthew._ Right.

The night before had been nothing but excellent and she was still both dazed and sore from the whole affair. In fact, all she wanted to do was stay inside and avoid snow and responsibilities with him.

But alas, her phone continued to ring.

She slipped out of bed and grabbed her phone, ducking into the corridor.

"Hello," Anna's voice pipped up. "I just thought I'd tell you that I've got George in the car and we are headed towards York."

Anna had been in London visiting friends that past couple days and was able to pick up George from his grandparents.

"Oh that's delightful," Mary said. "So I'll see you in a few hours?"

"Definitely," Anna said.

Mary smiled, "I'll start making a pot of soup and you can have lunch when arrive."

"Oh brill. Here, I'll put George on," Anna said.

"Hello George darling," Mary cooed.

"Hello Mummy!" George replied.

"Did you have fun in London?" She asked.

"Lot's of fun. Grandmama took me to the museum and then ice skating and then we got lots of toys at the great big toy shop," He rattled.

"That sounds quite lovely," Mary remarked.

"I missed you, Mummy!" He said.

"I missed you too, my darling," She soothed.

"See you soon? With lots of hot chocolate?" He asked.

"See you soon," She told him.

She ran a hand through her hair. Shoot, she definitely had sex-hair. She was going to need a shower before her son and best friend. And unfortunately, she was going to have to kick Matthew out.

No matter how much she just wanted to just climb back in bed.

She reentered her bedroom, hoping to make a b-line for the en-suite, but Matthew awake and lounging on the bed. She took a deep inhale. He looked like some sort of Greek god stretched out, naked, his hands behind his head.

"Good morning," He said.

"Good morning," She replied.

She sat gingerly on the side of the bed.

"I heard you on the phone," He said. "Who is this Mister George? Anyone I need to be jealous of?"

Mary let out of a snort of laughter. "Oh no. He's- He's my-"

But she couldn't bring herself to tell Matthew the truth. It was easier this way to just be Mary. Mary, 28, book publisher, light-weight, abbey dweller, lover of stories and old things. Not Mary Crawley, professional mummy.

She wouldn't trade George for the world and would gladly live her life with just the two of them in their large house without complaint. But she also knows that when it comes to dating, children are baggage. As soon as you mention a child, everything becomes serious. All of sudden there are excuses like, "I don't want to meet George in case things don't work out," or "I don't know if I'm ready for a family." And then just like that everything fizzles out.

Mary knows because she's done this time and time again.

It's probably better this way. Matthew is just a blip in her life. A famous film director dropped into her world for the holidays, but to be whisked off in the New Year. He's not permanent. He can't be. There isn't any point in him knowing about George.

"Never mind," Mary said, shaking her head. "What do you say about hot shower?"

Matthew smirked and followed her. She was grateful for men and their one track minds.

* * *

A few hours after Matthew had left Mary's cottage, he found himself curled up in a corner of Sybil's cottage. More snow was falling outside and he was thumbing through another Downton Book he'd pulled off his shelf.

He couldn't stop thinking about Mary. Not about her soft brown hair, as it fell just over shoulders. Not about her easy smile once you got to know her. Not about how deliciously wonderful she'd looked naked against that Persian rug.

She was smart, driven, and beautiful. Who would have ever thought he'd find someone like that in a small country town? After his break up with Lavinia, he hadn't thought that anything remotely resembling affection was in his future. But for a brief moment, in her lovely abbey, Matthew had seen a bit of future worth having.

It was as the sun began to dip low that he made his mind. He was going walk back up to her house and tell her what he thought. Sure he'd just met her, but he had to give it chance.

He put his book down (now his fifth Downton Book completed since arriving) and grabbed his coat and scarf. The snow was still falling. He didn't think it actually snowed this much in England, but this week seemed to be an exception.

His stomach tingled as he walked up to the house. He shouldn't be nervous, hardly anything made him nervous, but yet he was. He hoped that she wouldn't be put off by his frankness in just showing up, but he thought she might like it. She was a quiet woman alone in a large house, maybe she needed something to shake her life up.

He knocked at the main door and paused as he heard footsteps approach and then open the door.

"Hello," a voice said.

He looked down and surprised to see it belonged to such a small individual. A small blonde boy was at the door of the abbey.

"Hello," Matthew said uncertainly.

"George," Mary said in the distance, the sound of her feet padding to the door.

 _George_ , Matthew thought suddenly. How silly had he been to think that George was some sort of man to be jealous of.

But wait- if Mary had a son, did that mean she had a husband as well?

Matthew all of a sudden realized he knew nothing about Mary Crawley.

"Oh, sorry Matthew," She said. "Is everything alright at the cottage?"

"Who are you?" George asked.

Matthew laughed, shifting awkwardly. "I'm, uh, my name is Matthew."

"I'm George," the boy said, putting out his small hand.

Matthew shook it. "Pleased to meet you."

"Would you like to come in? Mummy and I were just making hot chocolate! You can have some if you like."

Matthew agreed and walked into the foyer.

"George, darling," Mary said. "Can you set out some biscuits for us?"

George have a little salute and ran into kitchen, slipping on his wooly socks.

"Are you married?" Matthew asked, as Mary fussed over his coat.

She shook her head.

"Divorced?" He asked again.

"Abandoned because he went on a diplomatic mission and found another woman in Poland and wasn't interested in the woman he knocked up back in England," Mary said quietly.

"Oh Mary," He hushed.

Matthew felt his face wrinkle with concern. Poor, poor Mary. She didn't deserve that. Raising a child on her own, feeling abandoned. Mary should have a life full of love with a man who undoubtedly loved her.

"It's okay," She said. "I don't need pity. It's been almost 5 years."

Matthew nodded, "Of course."

George's feet came tapping back.

"Cookies complete!" He announced. "Time for cocoa?"

Mary smiled at the boy and turned to Matthew. "Are you at all interested in hot chocolate?"

They walked into the kitchen. Mary went for the fridge and took out a carton of almond milk, which she poured in a sauce pan and began to heat up. Matthew sat with George at the table as the small boy began to assault him with questions.

"What do you do?"

"I direct films."

"Do you get to be in films?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, I tell people where to go and what to do."

"That sounds very boring."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Matthew said.

"If I worked in films, I'd want to be on screen," George told him.

"I think you'd do very well."

"Will you make a movie about me?" George insisted.

"I'm not sure," Matthew said, "have you got any talents?"

This launched George into some of singing-dancing-footballing act that he did around the kitchen. It took just enough time for Mary to finish mixing in chocolate, before heading to the table with three mugs filled with marshmallows and sprinkles.

"Here we go," she said.

Matthew smiled, taking the cup. The liquid was sweet and cinnamon-y.

"This is superb," He said, after a new sips.

"You've got a moustache," laughed George.

The boy now attempted to get his own hot chocolate moustache. Even Mary was giggling now. Well, that was until George got a little too out of hand and accidentally spilled the hot chocolate on Mary's dress.

"Oh no!" George exclaimed.

"Oh no, indeed," Mary said. "I'll just go change quickly."

Matthew watched her walk away.

"Are you going to marry my Mummy?" George asked.

"Oh well, I'm just her friend," Matthew said.

"Oh," George said. "it's just that she gets awfully lonely. Just so you know. Maybe if someone married her she'd be happier. That's how it goes in fairy tales."

"Do you like fairy stories?" Matthew asked.

"I like all stories," George said. "Do you want to go play a game?"

Matthew smiled, "Of course."

George led the way to living room, where he immediately began setting up a board game on the floor. Upon further inspection, it seemed that this was a game hobbled together with five game boards and a variety of pieces from various board games and a few knickknacks found around the house.

"How do you play?" Matthew asked.

The young boy immediately began rattling off a complicated list of rules and explaining each of the unique pieces.

"Oh no, George. You aren't not to make Matthew play that game with you," Mary complained when she entered. She was dressed in just leggings and jumper now. Once again, she looked splendid. "It takes ages to play and it's horribly difficult."

"You don't like games?" George asked Matthew, a frown already on his face.

"I love games," Matthew said.

"Good, then you'll love this one," the boy informed him.

So, that was how Matthew got sucked into the world of George's Game. They played the game for hours until it was very dark outside and George fell asleep on one of the game boards.

"I'll take him upstairs," Mary said softly, lifting the boy and taking him upstairs.

While she was gone, Matthew inspected the frames that he hadn't noticed the night before. Mary holding George as a baby. Mary and Sybil and George visiting London. Mary and George drinking tea together. It was evident that they were a family, George and Mary.

"I can't imagine anyone being a bigger hit," Mary admitted when she came downstairs.

"But I just can't understand why you didn't tell me," Matthew said softly.

"It didn't come up?" She said, but then shook her head and sat beside the fire. "No, it did. I suppose. I don't always like to be the poor, lonely single mother. It's nice to have a life where it seems like I spend all my time doing proper literary things, being a successful entrepreneur."

"You are all those things," Matthew told her, walking over to sit beside her.

"But I'm also a statistic, an un-wed mother," She said. "The best part about my job is that I can spend my time at home reading a few days a week so I don't have to send George to a playschool full time. And I get hot chocolate spilled on me. I'm never able to have nights out or date or have much of a life besides running Downton Books and being a full-time mum."

Matthew nodded, realizing that he couldn't be upset with Mary. Not for this.

"Do you despise me for not telling you?" She asked, her tone indifferent.

"I could never despise you," He whispered.

"You aren't going to run away? Because I have a kid?" She asked.

"On the contrary," He said, playing with a lock of her hair. "George only endears you to me more."

She smiled, but looked towards the fire, a rueful look on her face.

"I was actually on my way to tell you how much I like you," Matthew admitted. "That's why I came up tonight. I haven't stopped thinking about you."

"That's nice," Mary said.

"Nice?" He repeated, putting a kiss behind her ear.

Just that morning she'd been flirting and giggling. Now she seemed more reserved.

"It's just never going to work," She said finally. "You are going to go back to LA. I'm going to stay here with Downton Books. This is never going to work. You'll head back to Hollywood and fall in love with another actress or model or something and I'll just be here, heartbroken, picking up the pieces again."

"What if we found a way to make it work?" Matthew said.

"Like what?" Mary said, turning to face him.

"I don't know, but we are both smart people. I bet we could think up something," He told her, running a hand through her hair again.

"I don't know, Matthew. You are asking me to take a huge risk Matthew. If you break my heart, I might not come back from it. And I can't put George through that," She told him.

He rested his head on her shoulder, resigned that despite how much he absolutely adored this woman, she would never be his.

"Tell you what," Matthew proposed. "I'm going to spend Christmas with my mum in Manchester before coming back here for a few days. 'While I'm there, I'm really going to do some thinking about how to make this work. If I can come up with an idea for how this could possibly work, I'll tell you then."

Mary nodded, her eyes still trained on the fire. "Okay."

Matthew grinned, "I'll think of something. Until then, Happy Christmas."

* * *

Christmas came and went. Sybil was still in America. Mary's parents came up from London. She hosted them in the abbey and they did the usual- presents, Christmas dinner, and a game of charades. It was nice to see them, as always. They doted over George, complained about Mary's lack of love life, and commented on nice the Old Pile looked for Christmas.

As her parents left the day after Christmas, she knew this meant that Matthew would be returning soon. The thought of him and his proposition made her nervous. In her fit of nerves, she decided it would be best to drive up to York to check on the shop. She took George with her. They took their time in York, walking along the castle walls, wandering through the shambles. Anything to avoid driving home.

However, eventually they really did need to get home to start dinner and bedtime routines. Mary looked out the window as they approached the estate, seeing the lights in Sybil's cottage on and knowing that meant that Matthew was back.

Just knowing he was there, her heart skipped a beat.

It was silly wasn't it, to put him off just because she didn't trust long distance relationships. It was silly to not give him a chance.

But it wasn't. The last time she put her heart out there, she got so impossibly hurt. She couldn't imagine doing it again for a man she had only really spent time with for three days.

So then why was the thought of him leaving already starting to break her heart?

She got home and immediately started on work on dinner. She needed something to throw herself into. As she was putting a chicken in the oven for roasting, she heard the doorbell ring. It was him. Definitely him.

In hopes of not disturbing George, she went outside instead of inviting Matthew in. If he made her cry, well, at least her son wouldn't see.

"Mary," he said, when she exited.

"Hello," she replied softly.

"Will you be alright? It's a bit cold out here," he told her.

It was snowing again! She could hardly believe it.

"I'll be fine," she replied.

Her stomach flitted with nerves again. What would he say?

"I did some thinking and I know it's going to be hard and I know we each have baggage and that we've each lived separate lives. But I really do think we should try, in some sort of way, to give this a chance," he declared.

"Okay, but how?" Mary gasped.

Matthew gave a huge grin now. "I have just the idea."

She pursed her lips together and tried not to smile, but he did look quite excited to tell her.

"Well I found your grandmother's journals in my shelf of Downton Books and I loved it. Mary you did such a good job of piecing together her story. It's marvelous. It's exactly what I need to do next for my career. Don't you see? We can work on the film together- you can help with the writing and historical information. I can produce and direct. And best of all we can film it here- this way, I won't have to leave. At least not yet, but by then, well, we can figure out the details then. But what do you think?"

Mary's mouth opened in a very un-Mary-like gasp.

"Well, I think that that's quite the proposition," she told him.

"And?" He said, encouraging her.

And well, she could think of tons of ways this wouldn't work. What if they didn't treat her grandmother's journals the right way? What if they cast the wrong person? What if having the film set in her house was a disturbance? She could think of tons of ways this could go disastrously wrong.

But she couldn't say no.

Not when it was the best and most intriguing idea she'd ever heard.

"Yes," She said softly, as he swept her off her feet into a spin. Her lips were on his and it all just made sense.

* * *

"Just letting you know," Mary said to Sybil over the phone. "Matthew will be here for New Years actually. He's not staying in your cottage, so don't worry, but he'll be here for the party."

They had actually just returned from sledding with George and the two boys were dusting the snow off of them in foyer while Mary spoke to her sister.

"Oh M. Crawely is staying with you is he?" She laughed. "Interesting plot twist, because um, well I'm bringing Tom back with me as well."

"The composer?" Mary asked.

"The very one," Sybil replied. "He's actually been telling me about an interesting new project him and Matthew are already working on. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"

"Hmmm," Mary said. "Sounds like we'll have a lot of catching up to do when you return."

"Oh yes," Sybil agreed.

* * *

All that can be said about their New Year's celebration is that the scene was the perfect ending of a Matthew Crawley film. There was feel good song playing, everyone well-dressed in their holiday finest. There was a lot of drinking and dancing, Sybil swaying with George, Matthew swirling Mary, and Tom ducking into to steal a dance with Sybil. It was magical and happy and the audience was left with such an overwhelming feeling of togetherness that they couldn't help but believe the main couple would endure anything and like a fairy tale for grown-ups, would live happily ever after.

* * *

 _In case anyone wondered, I based "Downton Books" on Persephone Books and Matthew's directing style off of Nancy Meyers (who directed The Holiday). Hoping you all have a wonderful, cozy holiday season!_


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